To Soften a Heart
by Leibchen
Summary: If even a child can't warm the heart of Javert... Part Fourth now up.
1. The Child

Edited 1/31/06. Thanks to all the reviewers. I've made a few changes here and there. It's taken me a long time to find the inspiration to start writing this again. It almost died on me. J Either way, parts three and four are now up, enjoy!

Darcy

Part First

Javert sat at his desk as the evening sun set slowly over Monterfermeil-Sur-Mer. Quill scratched harshly over paper as he finished his police report. A few feet away, a candle burned brightly on the desk, casting the officer's tall shadow on the opposite wall. At length, the quill stopped scratching and Javert rose, his back stiff from sitting for so long. He was still human, still prone to aches and pains. The only difference between Javert and a human, however, was that he refused to acknowledge the discomfort. To do so would only hinder his duties.

Javert removed his shirt and began to scrub his arms at a basin by the window, then proceeded with his face and neck. No sooner had he reached for his nightclothes did a harsh knocking come from outside the door of his quarters.

"What is it?" the Inspector demanded, pulling on the linen shirt and thowing open the door. "Officer, have you any idea of the time?"

The young officer cringed under the Inspector's gaze. "Pardon me, Monsieur, but your presence is requested at the jail. A prositute has been arrested. You must come and question her at once."

"Very well." Javert sighed disgustedly. "Expect me in ten minutes." With that, Javert shut the door firmly and removed his shirt for the second time that night, dressing quickly. On the other side of the door, the young man sighed with relief and hurried back outside.

"Let me go, you bloody ingrate! I've done nothing' wrong!" the prostitute shouted, uttering a few more expletives and kicking at her captors. The officer moved out of range and scowled.

"You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand, girl! Believe me, you'll get no such mercy from the Inspector!"

"You can't do a thing to me! I've done nothing! I swear by God I'll-"

"It's a terrible sin to swear by God."

Javert strode into the room with a flurry of coat tails and snow. The frightened girl froze like a deer caught in headlights. She knew as well as anyone who Inspector Javert was, having been arrested several times for loitering in the streets.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Beauviard. I might have known…" Javert eyed the scantily clad, filthy girl. "And in no better health I see."

"Get yer eyes off me, you-"

She was cut off by a sharp slap across the jaw. The girl turned hateful eyes toward Javert, whose in turn were sparking.

"I'll have no such insolence from you. You will not speak lest I address you."

Not waiting for a reply, Javert strode over to the desk and removed a quill and a paper from the drawer.

"Because this is not your first arrest, and because you were found loitering, you shall receive two years-" There came a shout of protest and a swear from the girl. Javert continued unfazed.

"-And for your crime of striking an aristocrat, you shall receive three. At the end of five years, you shall receive your yellow ticket of leave and be free, with parole of course." Javert finished and looked over at the girl stonily. "Take her away."

The officers proceeded to drag the girl out of the room. Shouting incoherently, she fought off the guards and dashed at the Inspector. The guards recaptured her just before she reached him. Javert stood again to silence the girl.

"Wait! I have a daughter, Monsieur!"

Javert paused, briefly impatient. "Is your daughter in Monterfeil-Sur-Mer?"

"…Yes."

"She will be attended to. But you will still go to jail. Take her away."

"Oh, God!" the prostitute wailed as she was again dragged out of the room.

"There is little use in that." Javert said impatiently. "Even the eternal flame cannot help you now."

Javert read the address on the piece of paper the prostitute had given him. 10715 Rue D' Paraveil. This was it. The place was no more than a few warped board and some glass. No doubt the child was asleep inside. Opening the door, Javert discovered a lamp nonexistent. Somewhere in one of the corners, a small gasp could be heard.

"Go away!" cried a child's voice.

"Darcy Beauviard?" Javert asked, peering into the dark.

"What do you want?"

"Your mother has been arrested. Come with me now."

After a moment, a small girl appeared to Javert's right, clutching a ragged cloth doll somewhat defensively. Javert turned and strode out onto the street silently, leaving the girl no choice but to follow.

She had to all but run to keep up with Javert's long strides. The temperature had dropped to near freezing since nightfall.

"Pardon, Monsieur…" Darcy gasped "Where are we going?"

"To the Monterfermeil Refuge for Children. You will stay there until your mother is granted her yellow slip."

"I'm sorry, Monsieur L' Inspecteur, we've got no room for her."

"Pardon?"

"Monsieur, we're completely full. There's not a bed to be had." the master said carelessly. Javert breathed impatiently.

"I was told you would have a bed ready. Have you ignored your orders?"

"Someone came along before you and demanded we allow his child in. I am sorry, Monsieur."

"Then what am I to do with this child?"

"I do not know. Take her home with you until we have a vacancy, I suppose." the master said, deliberately avoiding the officer's glare.

Back outside, Javert paced furiously for a moment. Darcy stood miserable and cold under the streetlight, waiting for a solution. The cloth doll was soaking wet and cold, but it was the only possession she had. At length, Javert turned and faced her.

"Come."

Author's Note: For all of you out there who seem to take a sick sort of pleasure in flaming others' fan fiction, please be aware that this is MY interpretation of Javert and Les Miserables, and that some of the events may not be entirely true, including street names, character names, dates, times, weather patterns, etc etc. So please, critique my story, not the nitpicks. I have no time for flamers. So spare me, and yourself. You'll waste my time and yours.

Part Two will be in shortly. For those of you who wish to post constructive reviews, I thank you.


	2. Exposed

"Your father is who?"

Just a note. For those of you who visualize what you're reading, I write with Terrence Mann's and Geoffrey Rush's Javert in mind. (http/www.lesmis.de/pics/rush.jpg) and (http/ Philip, but first impressions last the longest. That and I've got a kiddie crush on Terry. :) Heh.. Read on!

PART SECOND

Javert trudged unbothered by the cold through the snowdrifts, seemingly unaware of the child struggling to keep up behind him. For every step of his, she took three, and before long she'd fallen far behind, and seeing that the man had no intention of glancing behind to see that she kept up, resigned herself to stopping completely. The cold, frightened child bit her lip and ducked behind a corner of two buildings, and there she sat shivering and forgotten, hugging her blue arms about her.

True to his character, Javert made no effort to make sure the child was still with him, and, having reached his door and moved his hand to his pocket for the key, finally noticed the child's absence. Spinning around and glaring into the snowstorm, she was nowhere to be found. He turned back around without a care and fished in his pocket for the key, and, lifting it to the lock, paused.

Somewhere the girl had fallen behind, and was probably at the moment buried under a snowdrift. Javert was a man of his word, whether that word was to a prostitute or not, and when that's all people knew him for, he had a duty to keep it. Needless to say, he wasn't the most popular man among the citizens of the city, but they at least knew that when he made a promise about something, he'd keep it. Not always to their benefit.

Grumbling inwardly as he retraced his steps down the streets, Javert scanned the sidewalks and spaces between buildings for signs of the child. She must've fallen farther behind than he'd thought, and the farther he walked, the more impatient he became.

Darcy sat in a miserable heap where she'd settled. Javert's tall figure blocked the light for a moment as she passed, and her tiny head flew up, eyes wide. Scrambling to her feet she clambered out of the small crawl space and took off after him. She opened her mouth to call out, but the only thing that came out was a small squeak, her vocal cords were so cold.

Javert heard the sound and turned around to see the girl chasing after him. Her cheeks and lips were tinged with blue and starting to match her eyes. He could see her mouth opening and closing silently. Javert's impatience subsided immediately and he took pity on the poor freezing thing. It was the first, and probably last, he would ever do so. Javert picked her up, and removing his long overcoat, wrapped it about her, leaving him in only his shirt and vest. The child shivered inexorably through the jacket and Javert resumed his steps toward home.

"Monsieur…" came the child's tiny voice over Javert's shoulder. "Where is my mother?"

"Your mother has been arrested." Javert said stonily. "You will not be able to see her again."

Tears began to form in the child's eyes, and she wiped them away before the man could see them. The thought of never being able to see her mother again brought a fearful feeling to her stomach. And where _were_ they going?

As they passed the corner where she'd been hiding, Darcy looked over at her doll, discarded in the snowdrifts and cried; "My dollie!" Javert paused and looked over at the sodden thing and shook his head.

"We'll get you a new one.."

Javert laid the small girl in the overstuffed chair in the common area of his small apartment, still wrapped in his coat. She obviously couldn't sleep in her wet clothes, and he had no children's clothes, and no way to get some at this late hour. Sighing and rubbing his temples tiredly, he strode into his own room and opened a few drawers, searching for something, God willing, small enough for the girl to wear, and finding nothing. He turned from the armoire and entered the side room he used for storage. Most of what was in here had been confiscated from prisoners, and was mostly rags, tools and weapons of all sorts. He dared to look around and notice the mess in the room, made a mental note to straighten up some of it, and throw out what couldn't be of use to someone else. Opening a few of the bags and boxes gingerly, he sighed. Doubtful he would find any children's clothing in here. He turned to leave, and as he did, a small cloth bag sitting in a heap under a leaning peice of wood caught his eye. Curious now, he knelt down and brought the bag toward him. Opening the lip, he took out -- of all things -- a cloth doll and a small peice of fabric. Unfolding it, and shaking away some dust, it turned out to be a pair of little boy's knickers. Javert frowned. What would a boy want with a doll? Dismissing the thought, he discovered the rest of the small bag contained a shirt, supposedly to go with the pants, and a pair of roughly made leather shoes. Javert suppressed a wry grin and pickd up the clothing and shoes.

The child was asleep where he'd left her, and very still. Javert moved the backside of his hand to her pale cheek. She was cold, but had no fever. Laying the clothing down beside her, and moved a hand to the buttons under her chin, and stopped himself. If only it was daytime, he could get one of the neighbor housewives to do this. With a sigh he grudgingly started on the buttons at the child's collar, keeping his eyes pointed over her shoulder. At length the dress came off, leaving her in her undergarments, and Javert slipped the boy's shirt over her head, pulling her arms through, and then the pants. The shoes could wait, and Javert, glad the task was done with, laid the girl down and pulled his jacket over her once again.

He retired to bed. Morning would come too soon.

Darcy opened her eyes and sat up. She was wrapped in a blanket, as the had reclaimed his coat, and the apartment was flooded with mid-day light. The aforementioned was nowhere to be found, and Darcy got down off the chair and went to the window, standing on a chair to peer outside. In the street, schoolchildren played on their lunch break and housewives carried baskets of this and that around. Darcy smiled. Maybe she'd have a friend.

She opened the door and blinked as her eyes adjusted. The other children were playing a game of tag, and their raucious laughter filled the streets. Darcy stepped off the doorstep, and chaos ensued. A horrible sound filled her ears and she staggered back onto the doorstep as a passing horse and cart staggered by.

"Watch where yer goin' kid! Ya coulda been killed!"

The sound had been the horse rearing. Darcy sat where she'd landed with her hands behind her and sitting on her haunches in the doorway, her heart gradually slowing down. What a way to start the first day. One of the schoolchildren had wandered over, a girl with bright red hair.

"You hafta watch out for the vendors." she said frankly. "They don't watch where they're going, so you have to."

Darcy nodded solemnly and the girl continued unabashedly.

"Where do you live?"

Darcy looked back at Javert's apartment and the girl followed her gaze and gave a gasp and a stagger backward. She ran off back toward the other schoolchildren and whispered something to one of them. Darcy watched them curiously. After a few seconds a few more came over, followed by the red-haired girl.

"Do you know-" the girl started, then looked over her shoulder warily. "You live in Monsieur L'Inspector's apartment?"she whispered. A small titter passed through the group. Darcy looked at her blankly a moment.

"Oh. The man with the black coat?"

"Yes. You didn't know?"

"Well, I-"

"I didn' know 'e 'ad a daughter..." one of the boys piped up.

"Oh, I'm not his-"

"Abbey! Luke! Back to school with you!" a woman called from a doorway. The red-haired girl looked back over her shoulder as her brother took off, and the rest of the schoolchildren scattered gradually. She took a step forward.

"Want to play tomorrow? We're here every day at noon. You already know my name."

"Okay..." Darcy smiled.

"Okay, see you then.." Abbey took off, stopped and turned back.

"Oh. And don't do anything bad! Nobody likes the Inspector... you'll see why." With that, Abbey took off running again after her brother.

Darcy scratched her head. What was so bad about the man? Shrugging her shoulders, she glanced both ways before heading back inside and closing the door. She plopped back down in the chair and surveyed her surroundings. The furnishings were simple, yet fancier than anything she'd ever been accusomed to. The dining area had a table and two chairs, there was a small kitchen area, and a hallway to her right beyond her vision, as well as the common area in which she sat. Across from her was a wooden bench, and on it-

Darcy let out a cry of glee. The man hadn't lied. Sitting on the wooden bench was a cloth doll, but fancier than the one she'd lost. It was missing a few of its yellow yarn hairs, and it was slightly dusty, but Darcy hugged it to her chest nonetheless. Maybe living here, waiting for her mother wouldn't be so bad.

Javert, done with the day's work, trudged through the muddy snow towards home, missing several of the odd glances and smirks he received on the way. A few schoolboys returning home from classes laughed quietly to themselves as he passed, a few of them members of Abbey's group Darcy had met earlier. Rumors flew fast in Monterfermeil, especially when spread by mischievious schoolboys.

Javert paused by the vendor selling groceries around the corner from his apartment for a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, and the vendor suppressed a wry smile as the items were paid for. Javert looked up and raised an eyebrow. The vendor caught himself immediately and wiped the grin off his face.

"Something amusing, Jonathon?" Javert asked, holding his gaze.

"I-uh..heh, weelll..."

"I'm waiting."

"You see... my little girl tells me-not to be spreading rumors sir-, but eh..not that's it's any of my business.."

Javert looked skyward and sighed.

"Did you..eh, take on a wee one?" Jonathon asked curiously.

Javert had never lied in his life, and had no intention of starting now, even to save his own reputation. Doubtless if Darcy had made herself seen, then the rumors had flown across the city almost instantaneously, and probably one in every household knew of it.

"For the time being." he said and without waiting for a response, turned and started toward his apartment. The vendor just watched with his mouth open slightly. His wife, having come to call him home for the evening, looked at him strangely.

"Jonathon dear, close your mouth, you're catching flies."

"Rosie love... Monsieur L'Inspector... has a daughter."

"Really?" Rosie asked, looking curiously at Javert's retreating figure. "Now who in God's name would-" she shut up as her husband elbowed her.

"Rosie, don't be rude. I don't think she's blood."

"Darcy!" Javert called as he entered the apartment.

"Yes, monsieur!" came a call from somewhere in the apartment, and Darcy ran out with the doll in her hands.

"Come here." Javert said sternly, and the child knew she was in for it. Trudging slowly over, she stopped at his feet, feeling very small. Javert knelt down to her level, and black eyes met blue, but only one set was fearful. The other was just irate.

"Did you go outside today?" Javert asked sternly. Darcy nodded.

"Did you talk to some children?" Again the child nodded.

"And what did you say?"

Darcy hesitated.

"Well?"

"They asked me... where I lived, and I told them here."

"And...what else?"

"They asked if I was your daughter, and I said no, but they didn't listen. Then they left."

Javert nodded. "Is that all?"

"Yessir."

Javert got to his feet and removed his coat, and, taking the loaf of bread and bottle of milk out of the coat's deep pockets, moved to the kitchen to prepare something for the evening meal. It would be simple, as he was no expert cook, but would sustain them nevertheless. Darcy just stood and watched him as he went about his business.

"Are you angry?" she asked boldly. For a moment Javert didn't answer.

"No. I neglected to tell you not to go outside, and so you did, so it is not your fault. But as of tomorrow, you are to stay in the apartment."

Darcy remembered the invitation to play with Abbey the next day, and bit her lip. Javert glanced at her and suppressed a roll of the eyes. He didn't think he'd have the patience for childish tears tonight.

"Monsieur.."

"What is it?"

"One of the schoolgirls. She asked me to play outside at noon tomorrow. If I could..go outside for a while..I'd come right back in and stay here until you got back.."

Darcy said quietly. Javert had to strain to hear her. "Just for a while?"

Javert considered this. The rumors were already out, there was nothing that could be done about that. The neighbors already knew there was a child living with him. What they didn't know was where she came from. Her existence however, was undeniable. She might as well make a few friends.

"Very well. For an hour and a half. No more. Then I want you to stay here until I return."

Javert missed the brilliant grin that spread across the child's face and, common sense returning and telling her to run with her good luck while it lasted, she ran over to the overstuffed chair and climbed into it to play quietly with the doll.


	3. When You're Older

When the girl awoke the next morning, she found herself once again alone in the small, dark apartment. Swinging her legs over the side of the armchair that had been her bed the previous two nights, she hopped down onto the cool wood floor and padded over to the window to look out. Schoolchildren were already out playing in the streets on their noonday lunch. Darcy glanced at the clock on the wall next to Javert's desk and frowned, unable to read it. Abbey and her friends would be out soon.

Darcy bounded down the hall and peeked into the small space Javert used as his bathroom. A washbasin on a small table sat against the far wall, and a small, cracked bit of mirror served to aid in shaving. A comb, razor and various other toiletries sat on top of the table next to the basin. There was a towel rack on the opposite wall, and that was it. Seizing the comb in her small hand, Darcy worked what she could of the tangles out of her hair and, pouring a little water into the basin, scrubbed her face with her hands. She placed the comb back in its place on the table as a bumping sound could be heard from the front room.

Darcy bounded to the window to look out. Abbey and her friends stood in a small huddle in front of Javert's front door, and Darcy jumped down and threw it open to greet them. When she did, they all cast nervous glances over Darcy's shoulder to the inside of the apartment.

"Is he at work?" Abbey asked in explanation to Darcy's questioning look.

"Oh, him…. He left earlier this morning, and won't be back until dark."

The group looked slightly relieved, and Abbey grabbed Darcy's hand. "Come on, we're going to play tag, and I'm first!"

Darcy laughed as they all took off across the street and down toward the park, the promise to be inside in an hour and a half forgotten.

Corinne Beauviard sat heaped miserably in her cell, casting dark glances at any and all who passed by. The guards who passed her cell merely ignored her. She was a child of the child of the underworld, a creature of the night, and in their eyes, inferior and not worth a moment's thoughts.

There is however the odd member of law enforcement who feels it his privilege to bully and harass those under his power.

Unfortunately for Corinne, he was such a man, and she was to be the object of his amusement. It was midnight, and the aforementioned officer was bored. Most of the other prisoners were asleep, and the ones that weren't completely ignored him. Except for Corinne Beauviard, who shot daggers at him every time he passed. This display of attention, albeit negative, was interesting, and he found himself watching the girl each time he passed. On his fifth or sixth time around the cell block, he stopped, and Corinne looked up. The officer gave her a crooked grin.

"Hey eh… I heard somethin' aboutcher daughter there…" This caught Corinne's attention as he knew it would, and he continued. "I heard she's livin' with Monsier L'Inspecteur.." he said with a smirk. "Thet wouldn't be too good for the little girl, now would it..?" he mused.

Corinne's mouth fell open. "What else do you know?"

The officer grinned lewdly. "Well I dunno… that depends on whatcher willin' to pay for it…"

Corrine's jaw closed firmly and she sneered at him. "Forget it." But to her surprise, the officer began fiddling with the keys at his belt.

"I said forget it!" Corinne cried. "If you think just because I'm a whore I'll-"

"What's going on here?" Another officer peered around the corner and the first glared at him. "Get lost! I'm interrogating her!"

The second nodded and disappeared, and Corinne turned her eyes back to the man.

"Now you're just going to sit yourself still now and -- hey now!" The officer laughed as Corinne leapt at him, one fist flying. He caught it easily and Corinne cried out as the grip nearly crushed her hand. The man pulled her hand back in such a way that she was forced to her knees. Her other hand seized and held above her head, and the officer's other hand seized a clump of her hair.

"Now…" the officer growled. "Are you going to behave… or do I have to make it hurt… worse?" The grip on Corinne's hair tightened and she winced.

"I'd rather die than lay so much as a finger on you!" Corrine spat and received an even tighter squeeze on her already-sore scalp.

"We'll see about that!" The officer forced her to her feet and backed the girl against the back wall of her cell. "Go on…" he chided, his stale breath in her ear. "Call for help… no one cares I'm in here… no one cares about you, either…"

The officer's breath was so disgustingly close to her ear, Corinne felt her stomach heave. The officer's hands pinned hers to the wall above her head. She could hear him fumbling with his clothing as she kept her eyes trained on the hallway ahead, trying with all her might to get her ears to block out the sounds of activity in front of her. She felt her stomach heave in digust and clamped her eyes shut, forcing herself to block out what was happening. She was a prostitute, after all. There would always be someone who wanted to take what wasn't theirs, and had no intention on paying for. That was the nature of the job.

The officer's movements managed to jar her slightly, and she opened her eyes to hear footsteps just as a shadow appeared in the hallway. Someone was coming. A brief, fleeting sense of satisfaction brightened her dark thoughts until the face belonging to the shadow appeared at her cell door. She let out a startled gasp and the officer chuckled.

"See… you know you-"

"Monsieur L'Inspecteur!" Corinne gasped and the officer was away from her like she'd burned him, fumbling with his trousers, his face bright red.

"Monsieur, I-"

"There is no need for explanation, Lucian." Javert said coolly. "However, please collect your things and be gone from this jail and my sight within the hour, or I will forcibly remove you myself. You may find employment elsewhere."

The officer's jaw dropped, but he knew better than to argue. Javert turned his gaze toward the shaken girl, snatching at her clothing like a starved child after a piece of bread. Much of it was torn, and she held what she could up to her chest, avoiding the Inspector's frank gaze. Finally her temper sparked.

"Are you just going to sit there watching me half-naked or are you going to leave?" Corinne snapped, shooting a cold gaze at him. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "And what of my daughter?"

"Your daughter is being cared for." Javert said simply.

"Where?" Corinne pulled the last of the clothing on and glared at him.

"You needn't worry about that. She has been attended to."

Corinne's eyes shot up and Javert saw worry in them briefly. She dashed to her feet and stormed up to stand level with him, drawing herself up to her full height.

"Tell me where my daughter is!"

A sharp slap to the jaw caused her to stagger backward a step, hand to her cheek. "You bastard…" she growled.

"You will learn to show respect to those in power." Javert said stonily and stepped back into the hallway. A sharp click signified the locking of the door once more. "Your daughter lives with me." he said, and turned away. A sharp gasp was all he heard in reply.

Darcy sat on the armchair that served as her bed, fussing over a tear in her dollie's dress. She'd looked around for a needle and some thread to find none, and even if she had, didn't know how to sew, so she resigned herself to the armchair to play quietly.

Footsteps crunching in the snow signified the man's return, and the door opened as Darcy looked up. The man looked tired, his shoulder slumped slightly as he removed his black overcoat and cap. Darcy hopped down from the chair to greet him, but he just passed by wordlessly and retreated into his quarters. She heard the water pouring into the basin in the small washroom and sighed, plunking down in her chair again.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy here. The place was warm and dry, which was far from how you could describe the small falling down lean-to she'd shared with her mother. The wind was constantly blowing in through the cracks, and there were only two blankets. Food was scarce, and they were lucky to eat once a day. So it wasn't as if she didn't welcome the change. She just couldn't understand why the man wouldn't let her see her mother, why she was kept so far away from her. A small tear gathered in the tiny girl's eye and fell on the doll's cloth face.

Javert returned from his quarters and headed into the kitchen, glancing at the girl on the chair in the living room. "Darcy." He said firmly.

"Yes, Monsieur." The girl said forlornly.

"I spoke to your mother today. She is well."

Darcy's head shot up. "May I see her?"

"No. But it is important for you to know that she thinks of you. I will arrange for you to see her when she is released from the jail."

Jail. Now there was a strange concept. Darcy's mother had spoken of it once or twice before, of not wanting to go there, of the fear she felt lest she be arrested, but she had never explained the concept. All Darcy could discern was that it was someplace you went where people would never see you again.

Darcy hopped off the chair and lingered in the doorway to the kitchen. "Monsieur."

"Yes?"

"Why did my mother go to jail?"

Javert paused. "You are too young to know. I'll show you when you're older."

"Why later?"

"Because you are too young to be exposed to such evils."

That seemed to end the conversation, and Javert served what he had been making onto two plates and brought them to the table, and the two sat down to dinner.


	4. The Truth of It

Weeks passed, quickly turning into several months, and the snow covering the streets of Montfermeil-Sur-Mer began to turn to slush, and finally to melt, resulting in more slips and falls than usual. No calls came from the Montfermeil-Sur-Mer Children's Refuge, and no word of what to do with Darcy. So on she stayed in Javert's care, and the girl eventually came to consider Javert's small apartment home. Although she still slept in the living room, the armchair had been traded in for a sofa, long enough so she could stretch out. Each morning, Javert left as soon as the sun rose after preparing himself breakfast, and as soon as she was old enough, Darcy rose a few hours later for school.

Word eventually got out that Javert had acquired a child somewhere down the road, but no one was certain who the child was, and Darcy wisely kept it to herself. Had any of her school friends found out, it was more than likely she would have soon found herself quite lonely. So the only soul who knew was Abbey, and Darcy made her swear on pain of death that she wouldn't tell a soul. The pact was kept quiet well, and the two girls became fast friends over the years, walking to and from school together and often doing homework in the evenings while Javert was away.

It had been six years since Darcy's mother's arrest, and the girl hadn't heard from or seen of her since. She inquired often as to her mother's whereabouts, but Javert never had an answer for her. The truth was that shortly after the incident with the guard, Darcy's mother had attacked another officer who was attempting to do the same thing in her cell, and was promptly removed the premises and put into a prison for women fifty miles away in another city, limiting her chances of ever seeing her daughter again.

Darcy, now fourteen, had lived with Javert for seven years, and had all but forgotten she had ever lived anywhere but with Javert. She had long since abandoned the formal term "Monsieur" she had formerly addressed him with and taken up the term "Papa."

The first time she addressed him as such, it took Javert off guard, and partially rattled, had dismissed her to her room. But the name began to grow on him, and soon the man began to consider himself as such. In the apartment after hours, Darcy saw a much more subdued, warmer Javert than anyone ever would when he was on duty. She was completely unaware of the severe, frigid exterior he carried with him while patrolling, and he very well preferred to keep it that way.

Winter came again. Darcy still occasionally inquired of her mother, and one particular day, Javert caught word that Corinne Beauviard was back in Montfermeil-Sur-Mer. Gears began to tick in his brain as he considered showing Darcy the truth at last about her mother. Rather than clinging onto the childish fantasy that her mother was an angelic, pure woman who had just struck on some misfortune, she would be free to see the truth of her mother's profession. However, it would be a cruel realization, and Javert had spent much of the time in which Darcy had occupied his home attempting to protect her from the evils that were so rampant in the world. For the time being, he dismissed the idea.

One particular evening, just after sunset as Javert was preparing to head home for the night, a group of brightly painted woman, many of them inebriated, rounded a corner, as loud and raucious as a bunch of schoolboys. Javert scowled at them all. The prostitutes these days were becoming more and more brazen around law enforcement, unafraid of arrest. At one point a few men came through a doorway and proceeded to circle the four or five women, whistling rudely and making comments. One of the men may have pinched one of the ladies, and she shrieked with laughter and took a playful swing at him. He caught her around the middle and dumped her in the street in a snowdrift, and now the high-pitched laughter turned into an angry cry, and, hauling herself up, struck the man across the face. Javert sighed and, as it was his duty to intervene on such things, started crossing to the group unnoticed. By the time he reached them, two men had the woman by the arms and the third was dumping snow down her dress, which wasn't hard considering the neckline. She was crying now and swearing horribly. The other prostitutes had fled moments ago on sight of Javert making his way across the street.

"Gentleman, that's enough." Javert said coolly. "You may let her go."

The three men looked up, thunderstruck and promptly released the hissing woman. She took one last swing at one of them only to have her wrist caught in the iron grip of Javert.

"And that will be quite enough from you as well.." he said coldly. "Gentleman, you are henceforth dismissed." He said boredly and, the woman's wrist still in his hand, proceeded toward the jail.

"I will NOT GO BACK THERE!" she bellowed, struggling. "I was there once, I ain't goin' again!"

"You struck a bystander, however guilty he was of harrassing you; and may I remind you that _you_ are the prostitute, not he." Javert said, trudging inexorably on. The girl gave one final yank and Javert pulled her forward to face him.

"Now listen you-" he broke off then. Staring him in the face was none other than Darcy's mother.

"Monsieur L'Inspecteur!" she gasped as she recognized the face underneath the high-brimmed hat. "My daughter..?"

Javert hesitated, something he rarely did. At once he released his captive, casting away her hand like it was something dirty.

"She is well." He said coldly. "Be off."

"Monsieur, PLEASE!" the woman cried. "I must see my daughter!"

Javert sighed and turned. "And you will. I will bring her to you. Tomorrow. 3pm on the bridge. Do not be late." Javert commanded, and turning once more resumed his path toward home.

The woman smiled and turned as well. There was so much to do.


End file.
